Chapter 119 - Tectonic Blackmail
The heavy aluminum grille struck the nearest technician squarely in the chest, hurling him backward over his console in a shower of sparks.
Reyes and I dropped from the ceiling in unison, weapons up, firing controlled bursts before the bridge guards could even shoulder their rifles.
Two PMC shooters collapsed onto the navigation consoles. Reyes swept left, clearing the auxiliary helm station with three pinpoint shots, while I advanced down the center aisle, my carbine locked directly on Julian Sterling’s forehead.
"Nobody move!" my voice roared with the absolute authority of a Master Chief on a combat deck. "Hands on the consoles, flat! Move an inch and you die where you stand!"
Sterling didn't move. He stood frozen beside the central holographic table, his cold blue eyes locking onto mine. For the first time, the smug composure on his aristocratic face cracked, replaced by sheer, unadulterated disbelief.
"Marcus Vance," he breathed, a slow, venomous sneer curling his lip. "You truly are a cockroach that refuses to be stepped on."
"Step away from the arming terminal, Sterling," I said, closing the distance to six feet. "The party's over."
"Is it?" Sterling smirked, his eyes flickering toward the countdown clock displayed on the panoramic bulkhead screen.
**04:12... 04:11... 04:10...**
"You're too late, Master Chief," Sterling said calmly, gesturing toward the red pulsing glyph on the display. "The trigger sequence was initiated the moment your father plugged the key module into the rig's main relay. Do you know who gave him the authorization code?"
A cold pit opened in my stomach. "Talk."
"Your darling sister, Clara," Sterling laughed softly, a low, mocking sound. "She didn't just want your four-million-dollar villa, Marcus. She wanted the five percent finder's fee I promised her on the short contracts. Fifty million dollars. She was on her smartphone at your dining table, sipping Dom Pérignon while you were fighting for your life in the deep, entering the encrypted bypass codes she stole from your personal military locker."
The betrayal hit me like a physical blow to the chest, but my hands on the rifle remained rock-steady. Not a single tremor betrayed the rage burning through my soul.
"She sold out her own brother... for money she’ll never live to spend," I said quietly.
"She’s a Vance," Sterling sneered. "Greed is in your bloodline, Marcus. Arthur had it. Clara had it. The only anomaly was you—the dutiful little soldier who thought honor and family meant something."
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"Honor does mean something," I replied, my finger tightening on the trigger. "It means I don't negotiate with traitors."
"Shoot me, and the sequence locks permanently," Sterling whispered, pointing to the countdown. "Only my retinal scan can abort the pulse before it fires. Three minutes, Marcus. Kill me, and you drown half of California."
